The Power of Corruption
by Othnieltcs
Summary: A Warlock searches for a powerful tome that was stolen from her superiors.


1The Power of Corruption

by Evan Losee

Glinpur Grinsocket had been happy once. But that had changed long before the demons took over her life. Oh, she summoned and "controlled" them, but she did not kid herself – that was very much a two-way road. Let others close their eyes to the obvious; Glinpur was no fool. She simply considered her Warlock powers well worth the cost. Her soul had already died. What did it matter that she risked a dead husk for potentially limitless power?

She studied the corpse on the ground before her. Some were more adept at wielding such power than others. Just a few years ago, Glinpur would have screamed and emptied her stomach at the sight of any creature dying in such a way, let alone a fellow Gnome. That was a different woman, though, in a different world. Both were gone forever.

She glanced at the smooth, round stone in her fingers and then held it up to her eyes, wondering just how much of a soul was contained in one of these Soulstones. Enough for a demon to find irresistible, obviously, but was there enough for sentience? Perhaps even consciousness? It was not the first time she had wondered such things, but it _was_ the first time she hoped with all her considerable will that her victim was indeed still aware of what had befallen him. With a small smile, she dropped the stone into one of the pouches on her belt.

"Thought you were _so_ clever, didn't you Gadgettink?" It barely took ten minutes of asking around New Tinkertown to know he'd set up his retreat here. An obscure location in Felwood was not where most people would have looked, if they didn't know that Diran Gadgettink's sister was killed here in the war. But Gadgettink should have known that his old cohorts would send someone after him. Then again, he had recognized Glinpur well before he'd fled, which meant he came here on purpose under the amusing assumption that he could best her.

"Not even close," she muttered with a grin. Glin's huge green eyes twinkled as she stepped over the corpse of her former friend. Flipping a few strands of her stringy black hair out of her face, she turned toward a portal that had just appeared.

Summoning demons from the Twisting Nether was almost second nature to her by now. The Voidwalker who had helped her vanquish Gadgettink entered, and a ridiculous little imp immediately stepped out the other side. Sometimes Glinpur imagined that all her demons were really the same being wearing different skins... but that was just silly. Wasn't it?

Immediately demon and gnome set about searching the makeshift refuge, but their efforts proved to be in vain.

Ironforge - the vast Dwarven stronghold carved right into the heart of a mountain. This was the rightful home of the Dwarves, not the Gnomes, and not a single Gnome that trod its great halls let herself forget it. It was kind of the Dwarves to open their home to others, but Glinpur was not the only Gnome who secretly resented every Dwarf she saw out of bitter humiliation. Her only consolation (though she would never admit it) was that with her heart-shaped face, pouty lips and big green eyes she tended to draw a lot of attention - despite the stringy, greasy mass of dark hair that often partially obscured the beautiful face.

Her superior was, of course, only marginally impressed by her report. With tufts of white hair and a rather comical face, Thistleheart did not look the part of one of the most senior Warlocks in the Alliance. "Felwood? Bah! Diran was a fool to try to run from us. Treason is one thing, but fleeing the inevitable is pathetic. And he didn't even mean to try the ritual on _himself_!"

"The name he gave was Jarislaan, master. He said they met in a place called Forest Song."

"Forest Song, yes. Probably one of the Dranei, then. How bizarre, and yet all too fitting. Long ago the Eredar- even Archimonde and Kil'Jaeden themselves- were one with the Dranei, you know."

Glinpur rolled her eyes. As if all of Azeroth hadn't heard by now! Thistleheart snorted at her impudence and continued. "We've actually been in contact with someone there, a Paladin..." he managed to give the title a sneer, "...by the name of Pellorin. Seek him out, Glinpur. This could still have a satisfactory conclusion. A Warlock able to hold the Dranei, and even those Night Elves, in debt..." he allowed himself a chuckle.

Glinpur frowned. "Do they know about the Tome?"

Thistleheart spluttered. "Of course not! Don't be foolish. Have you lost your senses? Under no circumstances is anyone to know about that!"

That sounded more like him. "It shall be as you say, master. I shall leave at once."

Glin felt the back of her neck tingled with that old sensation of being watched as soon as she stepped off the boat in Ashenvale. It was a familiar feeling indeed to any Warlock trying to find a place in the Grand, Holy, Light-Blessed Alliance, but around Night Elves it was always worst. Even Dranei were a bit more accepting than Night Elves, probably because of their close ties to some of the most dangerous Demons ever known. Glinpur had always been curious about trying her demon-enslaving spells on one of the Dranei. That, of course, was strictly forbidden - even by the senior Warlocks, widely regarded in the Alliance as considering themselves above the rules. Most claimed the opinion that there would be no effect anyway, but everyone agreed that if somehow there _were_ any kind of effect, the results would be awkward- to say the least. Glinpur giggled to herself as she walked down the long pier; the fact that their leaders found it necessary to declare a ban at all spoke volumes about the kind of people who would choose to be Warlocks.

Her grin faded as she entered the town proper. This was her first visit to a Night Elf city, and she did not care for it. No _walls_?! She had nothing against nature, really, but neither did she see any reason to always have it so _tinking_ close! Glin gave her name to the innkeeper, though with any luck trying to rest in such a place would not be necessary. Then she went out - outside, of course, being a relative term.

Carefully she drew a pattern inside a large circle in the dirt with her staff. This was going about creating a summoning portal the long way, but the upturned noses of the Night Elves deserved this kind of show, in Glin's estimation. She took a soulstone from her pouch, wondering briefly if it was that of Gadgettink, and dropped it in the middle of the circle. Only then did she being the casting.

Eerie bolts of purplish lightning flashed all about her as she went through the gestures and incantations. After a few moments the ground seemed to split open directly underneath the soulstone. Glinpur knew that was only an illusion - the reality was far more terrible. A portal had been opened to the Void, a great expanse of emptiness between all the worlds in existence. Glinpur stared into the portal, unable to help herself despite the feeling of being pulled, dragged into its great Abyss.

Whether she was actually being pulled or not, the portal's pull on something else proved much greater. A figure appeared, at first small as if viewed from far away, but quickly grew to fill the portal. It had a blue ghostly hue, and if not for its size and the evil cunning behind white-hot eyes, the face might have been that of a snake. "I obey," the Voidwalker said in a wheeze that seemed to come from everywhere at once and yet across a great distance. Sometimes Glinpur imagined that what she was summoning was actually nothing more than a projection of something monstrously huge and devastatingly powerful, amusing itself at how easily mortals were deceived...

A bright flash and it was over, the ghostly, serpentine form of the Voidwalker before her. It stared silently with those burning eyes, its arms patiently crossed. In a rare exchange of words the Voidwalker had once revealed its name to Glinpur as Kragthang. Most of the time they were together, however, neither Glinpur nor the demon cared to talk much.

It was a long walk to Forest Song.

Glinpur found Forest Song's inn to be rather bright for her taste, but this was a minor gripe compared to her delight in seeing actual _walls_ around her again!

She allowed herself an hour to truly relax - for the first time since setting foot on the continent of Kalimdor - before getting back to business. She was quite pleased to find her contact almost exactly where the innkeeper said he'd be.

"Ah, Jarislaan," Pellorin said sadly. "He was a good Paladin once, you know. Selfless, valiant..."

"Yes, well, those days are obviously long past. When was he last seen in Forest Song?"

"I believe that would have been in the company of your friend Diran Gadgettink..." seeing the scowl on Glin's face at the name, Pelorin hurried along to his point, "...approximately two months ago."

"And you've no idea where he might be now?"

"On the contrary, our Night Elf friends grew suspicious of his strange behavior. Their Sentinels have been tracking him ever since."

"Hence the alert sent to Thistleheart. Of course."

Pellorin nodded. "Yes, I sent the alert after one of the Sentinels informed me that Jarislaan been spotted among the Satyrs to the south of us, in a town of theirs we call 'Satyrnaar'."

"I've got to find him, Pellorin. I'll send one of my minions when I do."

Pellorin eyed Kragthang with obvious distaste. "You can count on Forest Song's support, Glinpur."

"If I have my way, I will not need to." Glin's comment was mostly to herself, but Pellorin nodded politely anyway. As she turned to go, however, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Then he leaned down toward her, almost to eye-level. "The Sentinels told me," he whispered uneasily, "that this is not the first such transformation to be attempted in these woods."

Glin felt as if a ball of ice had grown in the pit of her stomach, but not from mention of the legendary Night Elf Betrayer. She had been little more than a child when all that had happened anyway. But if they suspected the presence of the Tome, things might get very ugly. "Thistleheart told you about Gadgettink's research, then?"

Pellorin nodded, frowning slightly as he looked around him. Glinpur realized he was trying not to cause a panic and lowered her voice as well, though her tone was firm. "Illidan's was a much different situation, Pellorin. There is no skull of Gul'dan here, just a fallen Paladin with delusions of grandeur."

Pellorin nodded uneasily and straightened. "The Naaru grant it be so! Light guide you, Glinpur, and protect you."

Glin nodded in return, keeping her thoughts on what the Light could do with _him_ to herself. She did not have much time now, according to the late Gadgettink. Other things he had said came echoing back into her mind, and she broke into a run.

She did not slow down until she was only a few yards away from the entrance to Satyrnaar. As she stopped to catch her breath, a soft voice came from directly behind her. "Now is not the time to be reckless, Glinpur Grinsocket," it said.

One of the Night Elf Sentinels stepped out from behind a tree, and Glinpur resisted the urge to demand how she knew her name. Especially _that_ name. No need to make an even bigger fool of herself. The Sentinel smiled wryly, as if reading her thoughts. "Your quarry is not here, young Glinpur."

Glin forced herself to smile at the condescending woman. "Where is he then, Elf?"

"You may call me Siryas, if you wish." Not even the slightest hint of a frown, or any emotion whatever. Mekkatorque's Recombobulator, Glin _hated_ these arrogant creatures! Siryas continued, "I have been watching a group of Satyrs not far from here, in an enclave we have long called 'Night Run'. I was about to report Jarislaan's presence there when I...overheard your conversation with Pellorin."

"How many Satyrs?"

"Perhaps six, no more than ten. Glinpur, they seemed to be preparing for some sort of Demonic ritual." Siryas noted the expression on Glin's face. "Let us hurry...I will show you the way."

They hurried.

Night Run was actually little more than a clearing set aside by the Satyrs for purposes such as Jarislaan's. He was in plain sight as they crept up to the edges of the clearing, but what made them both catch their breath was his size.

"Light of the goddess, he's actually doing it," Siryas whispered. "He's making himself one of the Eredar!"

Though nowhere near a size such as Archimonde was,

Jarislaan did seem to be growing by the moment as the Satyrs madly chanted and danced around him. Already he was nearly half again the size of an average Dranei male. Siryas whirled to face Glinpur, her eyes flashing dangerously. "You told Pellorin this was not possible!"

"It should not be," Glinpur insisted.

"Then how is he doing this?!"

"I wish I knew," Glin replied quite truthfully. "Listen to me; Kragthang and I should at least be able to disrupt the ceremony. You need to warn Forest Song and bring back reinforcements." She was about to add that Siryas should hurry, but the Sentinel was already well on her way.

Glin turned back to the ritual, Siryas' question burning in her mind. Where _did_ Thistleheart discover that Tome? Is this _all_ the Tome's work, or did Jarislaan truly manage to form a contact with the Burning Legion? All that would have to wait - she was almost out of time, if she'd ever had any at all. Her chances of success rested solely on the hope that the arcane knowledge and power of true Eredar Demons had not yet been imparted to Jarislaan. Taking a deep breath, she began her incantations for a particularly nasty curse as quietly as she could. Finally, she stepped out from her cover and extended her hands toward the increasingly large Jarislaan as she uttered the final syllables.

The Satyrs abruptly stopped their frenzied chanting as Jarislaan's skin momentarily took on a faint reddish glow. A tiny flame danced on his cheek, and the moment of shock ended as he bellowed with pain. Glin's attack had been planned carefully however, and her next two incantations were monosyllabic. Almost immediately after the chanting stopped, great boils began to appear on his skin and his body was racked with uncontrollable spasms in the next instant. Still Jarislaan found the will to break into a lurching run toward the little Gnome.

Having presented herself as an easy target, Glinpur finally sent Kragthang out to intercept Jarislaan and his charging cohorts. The timing of this, she knew, would have to be pinpoint in accuracy. Her next incantation started gathering shadows into her upturned palm. Kragthang was a tough and fierce warrior, but he would not last long against the Satyrs' numbers, especially when combined with a creature the size Jarislaan had become. But she dared not rush what had to be the death blow.

The gathering mass of blackness coalesced into a javelin shape, and her grip tightened around it. Shouting the final arcane word, she hurled the bolt of shadows at Jarislaan's chest. The oversized Dranei reeled as the bolt struck home, he tottered and...

...stayed on his feet. Things were not looking well for Glinpur now. The Satyrs had almost overcome Kragthang and a few of them, like Jarislaan himself now, had managed to divert their full attention back to her. But she was not quite finished. Her next invocation was directed at none other than Kragthang, whose form was immediately vaporized. "Death" on this world was, for summoned demons, merely banishment back to the void. Glinpur suspected it was a fate they wished to avoid nearly as much as mortals do death itself, but Glin had other things than Kragthang's feelings on her mind. With a triumphant shout, Jarislaan brought his massive fist down on Glin's head.

The fist stopped just short, while blows from the satyrs were similarly repelled. Glin's spell on Kragthang had sacrificed his help, but in return it had granted her a few valuable moments to strike at her foes with impunity. Those moments had been put to good use, and a second bolt of shadows slammed into Jarislaan's neck. This time he did indeed topple to the ground.

Glin was no novice with the staff that was strapped to her back, but instead of engaging the remaining Satyrs she began opening another summoning portal. As the Satyrs recovered from the stunning loss of their champion, their frenzied attacks on Glin's rapidly thinning shield went barely noticed by her as she focused on the portal. Three Satyrs struck all at once, and Glin's protection was gone. A crazy "yip-yip" echoed in her ears as the Satyrs' next blows sent her into oblivion, and a tiny shape that had escaped the portal immediately seemed to vanish as they dragged her back toward the clearing.

Speeding recklessly through the dense wood, Pellorin and the handful of volunteers who could be spared from Forest Song's defense were still barely able to keep up with Siryas. Although Pellorin had been taught to value all life, he couldn't help a twinge of unease at the thought of having those large, green Gnomish eyes - which should have been pretty, but somehow instead he found rather creepy - sizing him up again. Still, the little Warlock had been given a promise, and Pellorin would have seen it fulfilled if he'd had to make this trip alone.

They came upon the scene of Glin's recent battle, and the relief they all felt was almost tangible. None had wanted to display a suspicious frame of mind, but both Siryas and Pellorin had secretly wondered more than once if the little Gnome did not intend to help Jarislaan rather than stop him. A retching sound brought Pellorin back to the moment, and he stopped to examine the giant corpse.

It was at least twice as large than any fellow Dranei should have been; clearly Siryas had not been exaggerating. The condition of the body, however, was such that Pellorin did not blame the young warrior who had emptied his stomach. Bloodshed, violence... even death, all these people had seen more than their share of. But this, this was simply horrible. Nothing should have to die like this. It was as if Warlocks went out of their way to inflict as much pain and suffering as possible, and clearly Glinpur was a very good student of the craft.

Siryas appeared back at his side as if she were a ghost. "She may yet live, Pellorin. Something was dragged away from here." She hesitated, and he knew without looking that she, too, was troubled by the sight before them.

"Yes," he answered the unspoken question. "Yes, we must aid her if we can. She has been faithful to what was asked of her."

Siryas nodded and turned toward the clearing she and Glin had so recently been spying on. "This way."

As they approached the ritual area, however, it seemed that they were too late. Kragthang had given a good account of himself, as the Satyr numbers were down to less than a handful, but the tiny Warlock now dangled from a tree limb by bound wrists. She stared into a large bonfire directly below with huge eyes above a gag that prevented her deadly curses from being spoken. Even as her would-be rescuers took in the scene, a satyr in the tree reached out with its knife and cut the rope Glin was dangling from. Pellorin turned away, bitterly regretting the thoughts he had so recently had about the valiant little Gnome.

Siryas' grip tightened on her bow. "We shall avenge her," she assured Pellorin, and he steeled himself. Turning back to the clearing, he raised his arm to give the order to attack...

...and the order died in his throat. With wisps of smoke rising from singed hairs and the frayed edges of her garments, Glinpur stalked out of the fire.

The Satyrs' mad dancing and chanting stopped immediately, and in that moment Pellorin felt a chill such as he had never felt as he saw the little Gnome _smile_, her eyes burning with vengeance as she raised her hands.

A ball of pure fire shot out from behind her, and Pellorin noticed for the first time a tiny shadowy figure dancing madly but comfortably in the flames and flapping its little wings.

That fireball began the carnage. The Satyrs were already fleeing from what seemed to be an invulnerable enemy, but that was hardly enough for Glinpur. Skin burned and boiled, faces twisted in untold agony, and bolts of shadow and fire seemed to fly in every direction. Siryas' bow twanged but once, and one of Pellorin's men delivered a blow that was motivated more by pity than by necessity. As horrifying as the scene playing out before them was, what would haunt Pellorin's dreams long afterward was the distinctive, high-pitched sound of Glinpur _giggling_ as the Satyrs suffered and died.

And then it was over, Glin primly brushing dust and ash off her robe as the tiny figure in the fire came hopping over to her. She patted the creature on the head and turned to regard Pellorin with smug satisfaction as he stepped into the clearing. "I am glad..." No, he could not quite bring himself to say such a thing. "...that is, I congratulate you on your success."

Glin dipped a curtsey so proper it seemed almost absurd in the midst of such recent horror. "My thanks to Forest Song," she replied in a tone that bordered on mocking, "for its assistance."

Siryas could not contain herself. "So, the imp bestows protection from fire. That I had not known."

"Dagyap!" The imp yipped, earning another pat on the head. Clearly Glin enjoyed having something around that was significantly shorter than herself. "Not exactly," she murmured, frowning at her singed clothing. "It's more of a shield, unfortunately. I wasn't sure it would suffice for the moment or two I needed." Having the superior knowledge in such things, she seemed determined to rub that fact in the Night Elf's face. "His ability to phase-shift allowed him to go unnoticed until the opportune moment."

It all made little sense to Pellorin, which he was glad of. Ignorance of Demonic ways was hardly something to be ashamed of, in his view. Siryas nodded, though, as if she had known these things all along. The sheer pride of the Night Elves made them quite insufferable at times. The daggers in the two women's stares would kill each other before long. "We had better make our report, Siryas."

"Yes," murmured Glinpur, making no move to join them, "I'm sure your superiors are anxiously awaiting news of Jarislaan's fate."

That terrible giggle of hers seemed to follow Pellorin out of the clearing, and he hurried on his way as if fleeing it.

Glinpur's laughter died off long after they had disappeared from view. She had seen the Elf look back suspiciously, but it seemed they had all left her, like good dutiful soldiers. Then she and Dagyap began a painstaking search of the area. She paid special attention to Jarislaan's corpse, and was slightly relieved not to find the object of her search - if it had been on him during her attack it would surely have been damaged. Finally, in a satchel on a crate by one of the campfires around the area, she dug out an old, musty book. Its cover bore black scorch marks, as if it had been pulled out of a raging inferno just in time. She flipped through its pages curiously, but it was written in the Thalassian tongue of the High Elves, even though she knew it had been a human that had written it. She sat on the stump and stared at the tome for a long time, thinking. Finally she stood and patted her demonic minion on its head once more. "Perhaps, Dagyap, it might be worth the punishment to let Thistleheart believe his precious Tome was destroyed."

The End

AN: This was first written several years ago, and I actually followed pretty closely what WoW's game mechanics for Warlocks were back then. Of course those mechanics have been changed several times since then. Imps don't have the fire shield spell anymore, a crucial part of Glin's survival when she falls into the fire. Soulstones work completely differently, and aren't even objects in a player's inventory anymore. I thought of changing these things, but then I realized the game would keep changing and I didn't feel like changing this story every time Blizzard tweaked "class balance" yet again. Besides, I _like_ those parts.


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